


Mr Nice Suit

by MagdaTheMagpie



Series: Marvel & Magic [9]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Coffee Shops, Creepy Fluff, Crush at First Sight, Fetish, Fetish Clothing, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Stalking, Suit Kink, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 20:38:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15871320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagdaTheMagpie/pseuds/MagdaTheMagpie
Summary: Harry has an unhealthy fascination for the man in the nice suits who always walks into the coffee shop at ten past seven, right up until the day of  the alien invasion.





	Mr Nice Suit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Marvelously Magical Bingo 2018!  
> Square G2: Suit/Uniform Fetish

There he goes again. The man in the suit, as impeccable as ever. Punctual to the minute, too. As far as Harry can tell, Mr Nice Suit comes in every morning at ten past seven for a double cream coffee. He never sits down, to Harry’s chagrin, but, just before he leaves the coffee shop, Mr Suit always takes a sip of his coffee. Harry holds his breath for just that instant, wishing he was that cup, or the cream that clings to the stranger's upper lip for a mere second before it’s swiped away by the tip of a pink tongue.

Harry doesn't have a clue who the man in the suit is, or what he did. It's the suit he notices first: pressed to perfection, fitting like a second skin, the cut of which is meant to make him invisible if you don't pay attention, but cuts an impressive figure if you do. Sort of like the Muggle version of an invisibility cloak. Harry sat closer to the entrance once, to have a better look, and his suit was both as fluid as water and as full of sharp edges as ice. All of it screams danger, so of course Harry finds himself drawn to the suits, and then to the man wearing them. 

Mr Suit looks so bland at first glance. Nothing stands out. It's all in the details: the crinkles around his eyes, the sardonic curl of his lip, the precision of the haircut, the strong, tanned fingers… Oh no, there was nothing dull about Mr Suit. 

But then, one day, the man in the suit doesn't come for his morning coffee, nor the day after, or the one after that… Harry keeps coming everyday to watch the door at ten past seven, only to have his disappointment grow, then turn into sorrow at the thought something terrible must have happened to his stranger. A lot of terrible things happened to a lot of strangers during the alien invasion, so he really shouldn't be so surprised.  He certainly shouldn't be mourning him or his perfect suits. That's just crazy talk.

Ten past seven. Harry glances at the door out of habit, because it's been over three months now, but as Mr Suit steps in, Harry drops his coffee in his lap. 

“Bloody hell!” he mutters as he dances from one foot the other. “Hot, hot, hot.”

Harry reluctantly makes his way to the bathroom to clean up. But… bloody hell! Mr Nice Suit is back! All this time he thought he was dead and he just appears out of the blue. Is this a sign? Should he go talk to the bloke? Harry is pants at chatting people up though. Even worse when he actually has a crush on them. No. Past experiences tell him it's best he keeps it simple and lusts after his stranger and his suits from afar, and just be glad aliens hadn't managed to wipe out such perfection. 

Nodding to himself, Harry throws the paper tissue he's been using to salvage his trousers and… freezes. Something hard and cold presses against the back of his neck. Not a wand. A gun?

“Who are you?”

By Merlin and all the unicorns? It's Mr Suit. Right behind him. A shiver of delight runs down his back at the smooth voice tickling his ear and the sheer proximity of his suit. He's never been this close before, not even when he inspected his suit's texture by the entrance. But now, they're almost touching.

“Who do you work for?” Mr Suit insists, pressing the barrel harder into his skin.

Harry bites his lip. He really shouldn't be turned on right now. And maybe he should answer… The other man spins him around, fisting his ratty cardigan to hold him in place while his other hand aims his gun at his head. Yeah, he really should start talking now… 

“I'm Harry. Hi. But I'm no one, really,” he says and raises both hands like he's seen in the movies.

Mr Suit looks unimpressed. His gun keeps level with his temple. He has a very steady hand. It's sexy as hell. Nothing goes better with a sharp suit than a lethal weapon, and yeah, he realizes something must be seriously wrong with his mind… well, nothing new there. Hosting an evil piece of a soul for most of your life would do that to you.

“Your reaction when I came in was highly suspicious.”

It's not a question but it begs an answer anyway.

“I'm a regular here, like you. I've been coming for almost a year, since before the alien invasion. I thought, when you didn't show up anymore, that maybe…” Harry turns his gaze away. Mr Suit has eyes that see right through him. “You know.”

The grip on his cardigan relaxes, so Harry looks back at his stranger. Did he believe him? Even he thought he sounded pretty dumb.

“You remember me?”

Harry nods, a bit too emphatically. He forces himself to stop being such a bobble-head through sheer strength of will. Mr Suit probably thinks he's a complete and utter moron. Harry wishes he was half as suave and sexy as him.

“Why?”

The gun has disappeared now. Harry hadn't even notice him put it away and wonders where exactly he keeps it on his person. It's not as easy to conceal as a wand but Harry wishes he could pat down his suit and body search him, for curiosity a sake of course. Dammit, he really needs to get a leg over. His mind is so far in the gutter, he can't think straight when he answers.

“I-wanted-to-buy-you-coffee-but-I'm-not-very-good-at-flirting-so-I've-just-been-watching-you-instead.”

It all came out in a rush and Harry's not sure Mr Suit understood at first because he looks very perplexed given the way his brow furrows. But then he chuckles and his eyes crinkle and goddamnit he's so sexy, Harry's trousers are becoming  _ very  _ uncomfortable.

“Well, can't be worse than this. Sorry about it. I have… issues.”

Harry laughs. That's an understatement if he ever heard one.

“How about  _ I  _ invite you for coffee. As compensation for this little incident.”

Harry agrees. Of course he does. One does not simply pass up an offer to sit with Mr Suit while he drinks a whole cup of double cream coffee. Hiwever, Harry isn't very good at making conversation. He's woefully out of practice since he left everything, and everyone, behind after the war, but asking for his stranger's name is pretty basic.

“You can call me Phil.”

“I’m Harry… but I already said that.”

Harry stares at the cream on Phil's upper lip. He wants to lick it off.

“So… what happened to you? Was it the aliens?”

Phil winces.

“Or maybe you don't want to talk about it? Right. Can't have been nice. But you look-”  _ Hot.  _ “Well.”

“Thank you. It affected a lot of people. You were here that day?”

“I… erm… slept through it, to be honest.”

His flat had enough wards to protect him from a nuclear blast, so he had only realized what had happened to the city when he stepped outside the next morning on his way to the coffee shop, only to be met by rubble and alien carcasses everywhere. 

Phil laughs again. It's music to his ears. 

“You're a strange man, Harry.”

“But in a good way, right?”

Harry flashes him his lopsided smile. The one Hermione always told him made him look cute and innocent. Phil hesitates for a moment but nods. A second later he puts his empty cup on the table between them and takes out his phone with an apologetic smile. He reads a message which makes his eyebrows dive down. Not good news then. Harry knows this means the end of their coffee date, do he quickly writes down his number on a paper napkin.

“Sorry. I have to-”

“It's fine,” Harry cuts him off because there is absolutely nothing to be sorry for. 

He then leans over and tucks the folded napkin in the breast pocket of his suit, taking advantage of the situation to let his fingers slide over the smooth material. So soft. More than he expected. 

“Call me?” Harry asks. 

Does he sound a bit desperate? Yeah… maybe. But he can't bring himself to care.

“You know… I think I will. See you soon, Harry.”

Harry watches Phil as he leaves. His suit doesn't even have a crease and Harry still doesn't have a clue where he keeps his gun. Phil walks briskly out the door and all too soon he is out of sight. Mr Nice Suit is much more of a mystery than Harry anticipated. He doesn't look like a cop. Maybe he's one of those federal agents. That would explain the gun. Harry can't picture Phil on the wrong side of the law though, not even after he held him at gunpoint in the loo for no reason except his own clumsiness. 

Deciding he can't very well spend all day sitting there waiting for Phil to  call, Harry gets up and spirits away the cup Phil had been drinking from. A bit creepy? Yeah, just a bit, but no one needs to know.

 

They see each other at the coffee shop every morning. Phil now comes in at five past seven, and Harry can't help but think it's so they can talk for a few minutes before he has to leave, because that's exactly what happens. It's the highlight of his day. Phil hadn't used his number for a proper date yet, but Harry doesn't push. They have time, and the way he sometimes catches Phil watching him gives him hope.

On the ninth day of this routine, Phil comes in with a black eye. 

“What the bloody hell happened?”

Phil seems amused by his reaction.

“You Brits are so proper even when you swear.”

Okay, so he was only amused by his turn of phrase.

“I know a deflection when I hear one,” Harry mutters, crossing his arms in front of him. “You won't tell me?”

Phil glances around at the other patrons then lowers his voice, leaning closer to him.

“I  _ can't _ tell you.”

“Umph. So you  _ are _ a fed. Thought so. Just be careful out there, okay.”

Phil nods and he has this strange look in his eyes as he bids him good day once more. Harry is not the least bit reassured however. Phil’s suits, as nice as they are, are not bulletproof. What if the next time, it's a bullet coming at him instead of a fist? It's not out of the realm of possibilities, quite the contrary, and Harry suddenly has a very bad feeling, so foreboding it crushes him on the inside. He's always trusted his instincts and it's kept him alive so far… Jumping out of his seat, Harry runs out of the coffee shop just in time to see Phil disappear down the road. He follows him at a distance, then throws his Invisibility cloak over himself the first chance he gets. He can follow Phil closely now, but only then realizes this is a whole new level of creepy he's indulging in.

_ Just for today,  _ he tells himself.  _ Just so I know he's not in any danger. _

Phil doesn't work far, but the building he enters doesn't give him any indication of what his line of work is. Harry only manages to get past security by keeping a close proximity to Phil, although he's very careful not to let the cloak flap anywhere near him. Dead giveaway that, feeling fabric that isn't there, even if he's seen people brush it off as cobwebs in the past. However, this building has probably never seen a cobweb in all its existence. It's so clean, Harry could probably eat right off the floor. Not that he would, but he could. 

Phil suddenly stops in the middle of a hallway. He doesn't glance around but he is listening, very intently. Harry knows it's not him he's listening for. He was careful enough to cast silencing charms on himself but it doesn't stop him from holding his breath. Was it something else? He isn't casting a shadow, technology shouldn't be able to pick up any trace of him under the cloak… Harry doesn't have time to ponder further. Phil sets off at a quick pace and enters a room, closing the door so fast behind him, Harry barely had time to slither in and his cloak ripples around his ankles.

Phil is too focused on the door to notice. He leans against a long conference table facing it, looking nonchalant even though he is anything but. Harry knows it because Phil has his gun in hand -and where it was exactly remains a mystery- and he's muttering under his breath. Harry has never seen him look so agitated before. Not even when he confronted him in the coffee shop's bathroom. So Harry is ready too, wand in hand. He won't let anything happen to Phil.

Finally, the door handle turns. Harry holds his breath once more.

“I thought it was you,” a man says as he pushes his way in.

He doesn't look like a nice man despite the smile on his face and his suit is rumpled in all the wrong places. Harry knows those kind of men who smile without it reaching their eyes. They're usually the most cruel of the lot. Phil is right to be weary, his gun aimed true at the stranger's heart.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” 

“We were never friends, Johnson. What do you want?”

“Well,” Johnson says as he lazily takes out his own gun. “I wanted you to stay dead, but I heard rumours, so I went to check out your old haunts and imagine my surprise when I saw you at that shabby old coffee shop.”

Harry frowns. He likes the berk even less now.

“Always knew you had no taste,” Phil replies smoothly. “And now what? You shoot me, I shoot you? And all that for what? Because you're hoping to be promoted to my position? It won't happen. You're barely adequate as a level five agent.”

Harry has no idea what they're talking about, but surely this duel to the death can't just be about promotions in the workplace. He knows the job market is fierce in the Muggle world, but still… Then Johnson laughs and the sound is pure evil. A cackle worthy of the deranged Bellatrix Lestrange. Insanity, he understands better.

“Oh, I'll shoot you. No doubt about it, but you…” In one dramatic flourish, Johnson opens his vest to reveal some wires and a metal plate. “Forcefield. You can't-”

A gunshot echoes through the room.

“Just testing out that theory,” Phil explains calmly.

Harry thinks he may just be a little in love, and not only because of the suit.

“I will end you. Hail Hydra!”

Phil ducks as Johnson aims for him, but there is nowhere to hide and his gun is useless. Harry knows it's up to him now. He stupefies the living shit out of the moron, the red light inundating the whole room and giving away his position. After a cursory glance at Johnson who Harry knows is out of commission for at least the next six hours, Phil trains his gun on his approximate position.

“Show yourself,” he commands and by Merlin, that voice never ceases to do unmentionable things to him.

Harry could probably escape. He should in fact. Statute of Secrecy and all that, although that law is a lot more tolerant since the alien invasion. Harry takes a few steps towards the door.

“Stop,” Phil says.

How the hell did he know? Harry could stun Phil too, but he really doesn't want to and he can't leave him with the other nutjob in case he wakes before Phil and finishes what he started. Well… alright… plan B then. Plan A never works out anyway. It must be a rule of the universe. Sighing, Harry takes off his cloak.

“Hello again,” he says with an awkward wave.

“Harry,” Phil says as if he can't quite believe it. “Harry?” he repeats as if trying to convince himself. “I knew you were too good to be true.”

“I am?”

“Was.”

“Oh,” so he messed it up. Again. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to follow you. I just had a really bad feeling when you left.”

Phil looks steadily at him, but, just like the first time, the barrel of his gun drops just a fraction.

“What are you?”

What? Well, that was a bit insulting, but what with aliens and mutants roaming the Earth, maybe he had a point. The world had become a strange place.

“I’m a wizard. I'm human.”

“Magic?”

Harry nods cautiously.

“I don't like magic much,” Phil replies, rubbing his chest.

Harry deflates. 

“But you saved me. Thanks for that.”

Harry squirms, not knowing what foot to stand on now. Is Phil going to arrest him? Ignore him? Kill him? No, the latter doesn't seem likely since he put his gun away, and once more, Harry completely missed the gesture. Phil then inspected Johnson's prone form.

“You do know you killed this agent, right?”

“What? But I just stunned him!” Harry exclaims as he joins Phil's side to look down at… and yep, that's a very dead body right there. “Damnit!”

Harry doesn't take lives lightly. He'd rather not do it at all. 

“Looks like your spell reacted badly to Johnson's forcefield. See the way the wires melted here?”

“Electrocuted?”

Phil nods then turns to look at him.

“It wasn't your fault. But can you just confirm what he said right before you fired your spell at him?”

Harry thinks carefully about it, but as far as villains go, this one hadn't monologued too much.

“I will end you. Hail Hydra,” he parrots back in a fair imitation of Johnson's last words.

“Uhm, that's what I thought.”

“Not good?”

“No,” Phil chuckles humorlessly before he stares at him again. “Say, I don't suppose you would have like to work for a secret organisation within a secret organisation to take down an evil secret organisation embedded within the first secret organisation.”

“Well… depends who I'll be working for, I suppose.’

“For me, essentially. I could use your skills, those I know of, at the very least, since I suspect there's more to you.”

Harry hums in thought. He'd love nothing better than to stay at Phil's side but he's still a bit reluctant about joining another fight. On the other hand, owning a coffee shop isn't half as exciting as he thought it would be.

“How evil is this secret organisation?”

“World domination and mass murder of civilian population level.”

Saving the world then. He could easily defend his use of magic amongst Muggles to the ICWW in that case.

“Alright. I'm in... on one condition.”

Phil raises a brow.

“And what's that?”

“I'm allowed to shag my boss. I don't want any of that sexual harassment and fraternization bullshit to come between us if I work for you.”

Phil barks out a laugh.

“I think I can agree with that.”

“With your suit on.”

And there's that blush that Harry has been dying to see on Phil's handsome face.

 

 


End file.
